Every One was very busy for the unborn child that day, 'cause the unborn child was going to enter in this political, patriarchal, heartless World. Fairy lights are glowing bright shine, flowers had taken place of the architectures of pillars in the castle, new dresses are being distributed among the poor vilagers, the rich merchants, bussinessmans and each and every people of that area. Sweets are the part of happiness in India and without it every celebration becomes a cocktail party of demons in hell with human blood as drink. Every one was wearing new clothes, ladies's faces are filled with compact, foundation, face powder. Rose powder in cheeks of every women was much more red than roses in a garden. Red matte lipstick in lips was just like the blood in hand of a teen girl, going to suicides by cutting her viens.
The bearer of the child, queen Brishtilekha, was suffering the pain. Sweat seeps off and dropping making the bed wet, she was crying, screaming and her palms were grudging the blanket tightly as possible as. Her face got much glow and glamour due to Sweat making her more beautyful. She suddenly screamed in a much more powerful voice. And then everyone's breath stopped, a strange silence came down through the atmosphere and walls.